Bonded by Blood

by Cash

  Check it: ya baby boy done struck PLATINUM! I’m talking mil’ ticket, nigga! What you know about dat? I’ll give you the 4-1-1 when you get home. Right now keep it on the hush. Don’t even mention it to B-Man (you know how that nigga do). I ain’t frontin’, fam—I’m sittin’ on riches!

  N-E-way, enclosed is that bread I told you I’d send. Two stacks, shawdy. Plus, I’ma break bread when you get home. Oh, I can’t forget this: When ya release date comes, I’m coming to pick you up stuntin’ hard! Bruh, you done a bid for me. So you know it’s all love. Real niggaz do real things.

  One love,

  Q

  Real niggaz do real things.

  Khalil felt that shit. The two-thousand dollars he had just received, in money orders, from Q wasn’t the half of it, though. Q had sent him money every single month he’d been down. He’d also sent CD’s, pics, and had visited at least once a month. Being on lock, seeing how most niggas’ family and friends abandoned them, made Khalil appreciate the love Q showed that much more.

  He couldn’t say the same for B-Man; it was like B-Man was always on some other shit. Still Khalil loved both his brothers just the same. Ever since Black Girl had passed away, it was the three of them against the world. Being the oldest, Khalil had felt it was on him to look out for his younger brothers. The only time they saw Rapheal was in the streets, where he’d be doing the crackhead shuffle, going out bad.

  Before long, all three of the Jones boys were hustlin’ to take care of themselves. They all had sold weed or crack for a minute, but like Black Girl prophesized, Q was the best dopeboy of the three. B-Man was jackin’ niggaz, while Khalil was chili pimpin’, too green to know how to really mack the young chics he caught.

  In Thomasville Heights, where they maintained the apartment they had been living before Black Girl’s death, the brothers earned a reputation for being each other’s keeper. They shared whatever monies earned from their respective hustles. When a nigga violated one of them, he caught beef from all three.

  Khalil was a real pretty nigga, but he was still nice with his hands. B-Man was the real threat, he was quick to bust his gun and he lived for the drama. Q was more about his paper, but his weakness was exactly as Black Girl had warned it would be.

  Q was fuckin’ with a little redbone named Chelsy. They were both just a few months shy of sixteen years old, but Chelsy was sixteen going on thirty. She had been fuckin’ since her hair had begun growing on her pussy. By the time she turned fourteen she been passed around like a peace pipe.

  When Q got with her, Chelsy hadn’t too long stopped kickin’ it with DeShawn, a twenty-year old corner hustla who had a twin brother named DeWayne. DeShawn was a real jealous nigga who had kept hot ass Chelsy sporting black eyes and busted lips when they were together. With Q, Chelsy didn’t have to duck any punches. Q had witnessed Rapheal put his foot in Black Girl’s ass way too many times to follow in his pop’s footsteps. Not only was Q gentle with Chelsy, he blessed her with whatever his bank could afford at that time. At sixteen he wasn’t getting’ to the money as strong as “Twin” had been, but he stayed on his grind.

  Chelsy had him open like a book. Hood niggaz tried to tell him that the she was nothing to hold hands with, but her wet-wet was too good for Q to listen to them. He would have to learn the hard way.

  Chelsy had been creepin’ with DeShawn for months before Q busted them out. Then, even after he had caught shawdy creepin’, Q took her back. He forgave Chelsy, but beefed with DeShawn. Khalil told him that was some real sucka shit.

  “Shawdy, I done watched my bitch, Dana, fuck another nigga. As long as the ho gets paid it’s all good.”

  But Q wasn’t built like that.

  B-Man, who was always game for some brolic shit, said,

  “Whateva you wanna do, shawdy, I’ma ride. Fuck Twin, I ain’t never liked them niggas no way!”

  A week later B-Man and Q were cruising the hood in Khalil’s Yukon when they saw the twins parked outside their grandmother’s apartment.

  “You wanna dump on them hoes, shawdy?” asked B-Man, reaching for the strap on his waist.

  Q wasn’t strapped, and really he didn’t wanna take it that far. But he didn’t want his brother to think he was soft.

  B-Man was driving and Q was riding shotgun. B-Man passed the iron to Q then rolled up on the twins drive-by style. Without considering that Khalil’s Yukon was known by everyone in the hood, Q opened up on the twins, spraying their car with automatic nine millimeter gunfire before B-Man mashed the gas pedal and sped off.

  Witnesses identified the Yukon and both B-Man and Q. The brothers were arrested and charged with attempted murder, aggravated assault and a couple lesser-included offenses.

  Keeping it gutter, the twins refused to press charges or cooperate with prosecutors who wanted to slam B-Man’s and Q’s backs out. Still the state wouldn’t drop the charges. The assistant D.A. wanted to send Q to prison with football numbers because Q had numerous arrests for drugs. B-Man had only one prior arrest, so he was good.

  Once it became apparent that the D.A. wasn’t going to be satisfied unless somebody caught a bid for the shooting. Khalil stepped up to the plate and claimed he had done the shooting that night, and that Q had been nowhere around.

  In the end, Khalil pled guilty to felony assault and received a straight five-year sentence. B-Man was given five years probation. The assistant D.A. knew that Khalil was taking the fall for his younger brother; all the witnesses the A.D.A. had interviewed pertaining to the case had identified Q as the shooter. But Khalil’s guilty plea cleared up another case on the A.D.A.’s docket and added another conviction to his case record. That was all that mattered to the cracker.

  Khalil stepped out of his cell and leaned on the guard rail. He caught Rayne’s attention, but knew she would not come back up to his cell. Too many nosey niggaz were beamed in on her. “Damn, Baby Love is finer than a mafucka,” Khalil said to himself. He was always astonished by the feelings for Rayne that were building inside of him. Rayne had him seriously considering squaring up and making her wifey.

  Chapter Six

  Nearly two months passed by without Fazio having any success tracking down Diamond or Vee Vee. Nor, had he been able to detect any major upgrade in the lifestyles of Maldanado, Q, or anyone else in his clique; nothing that revealed complicity in the robbery.

  Yet, Fazio knew that only someone close to him would’ve been able to tell the strippers about the false wall and what was behind it. He knew for sure that Maldanado and Q were aware of the stash spot, but he wasn’t sure that they were definitely the only two outside of himself, who knew of it. He realized it had been uncharacteristically foolish of him to allow anyone to peep his stash spot.

  He had already had the little Mexican who’d built the hidden wall disposed of, erasing one possible betrayer. He decided that he was going to be just as merciless on whoever in his clique turned out to be the strippers’ accomplice in the robbery. Fazio believed that you had to punish a disloyal comrade twice as viciously as you would an enemy. That was the surest way to discourage others in his clique from such betrayal. Instilling fear assured loyalty within one’s troops more solidly than kindness did.

  Fazio figured it was just a matter of time before he caught up with Diamond and Vee Vee. The jewelry they’d stolen from him was custom designed and easily recognizable. Fazio had people all over the city keeping an eye out for those pieces.

  Plus the stolen kilos had been stamped with a small replica of the Virgin Mary. The information about all of Fazio’s products bearing a special stamp on the inside of the wrapper had been kept from those on his team precisely for reasons such as theft. The word had been discreetly passed on to certain drug dealers around the “A” to be on the lookout for kilos wrapped in red plastic, which bore the small Virgin Mary stamp inside. Since the theft two months ago, Fazio had not distributed any kilos in Atlanta bearing the special stamp. If some should turn up now, they’d have to be the stolen ones.

/>   Fazio continued pushing work as usual. He hadn’t let on to anyone in his clique that the robbery had occurred. Maldanado was still entrenched as his top lieutenant, and Q was still being given between five and ten bricks on consignment. All the others associated with the kingpin’s legal drug enterprise were also being dealt with just as he’d always dealt with them. But all of them, especially Maldanado and Q, were under Fazio’s suspicion.

  Fazio was again weighing what he knew about each person in his clique when the call he’d been waiting two months to receive finally came in.

  From a distance niggas might’ve thought she was Remy Ma, the female rapper who rolled with The Terror Squad. Whenever someone tossed that compliment her way, Vee Vee would respond, “I don’t look like that bitch. She looks like me!”

  The customized tag “1 of a kind” on her new 740 Beemer announced to the whole world how Vee Vee felt about herself. She believed she was the shit. She had niggas and hos all on her thong.

  “My schedule stays full,” she would boast to the haters. “Y’all better ask somebody!”

  To the jealous bitches who tried to clown her for being AC/DC, Vee Vee simply told them, “Give your man my number, I bet he’ll like how I get down.” To niggaz who hated on her, she told them to have their bitches come holla at her.

  Vee Vee didn’t try to deny that she bumped coochies with a chic once in a while. The way pussy made most niggas act, she had to find out for herself what it hit like. Wasn’t no shame in her game.

  “Let me call you back after I leave the salon?” she said to Moesha, a little cutie she’d met a few weeks ago.

  “You better call me back or I’ma blow up your cell phone,” Moesha threatened. Vee Vee had her sprung on the tongue.

  “You do that anyway,” she reminded Moesha. “But for real, I’ll call you back when I’m done. I’m just pulling up at the salon now.”

  “Okay. Make sure you call me.”

  “I will,” Vee Vee promised.

  Vee Vee parked outside Bangin’ Headz hair salon in the plaza on Wesley Chapel Road. She made sure that she parked where the BMW could be seen by everyone inside. Let those bitches see how I’m livin’!

  Vee Vee was a half hour late for her appointment, but Fila, her hair stylist didn’t complain—Vee Vee tipped well.

  “Bitch, whose whip is that?” Fila’s nosy ass asked as soon as Vee Vee was in her chair.

  “Oh, that’s my birthday present to myself,” Vee Vee answered nonchalantly.

  When Fila commenced to peppering her with a barrage of prying questions, Vee Vee deflected most of them and lied in regard to the others. Discussing shit with Fila or any of the stylists at Bangin’ Headz was like broadcasting your business on local radio. Fila and the crew at Bangin’ Headz gossiped so much, it was a wonder nobody had ran up in the salon and banged their goddamn heads.

  When Fila was half finished restyling Vee Vee’s hair, Vee Vee’s cell phone rang. The caller ID told her that Raveion was tryna reach her. She excused herself from Fila’s station and walked to the back of the shop to answer her call in private. She wasn’t about to allow nosy ass Fila to overhear her business.

  “What’s up, baby boy?” Vee Vee said into her cell phone as soon as she had some privacy.

  “I’m just letting you know I got that for you,” said Raveion.

  “Okay. I’m at the hair salon on Wesley Chapel right now; give me about an hour and I’ll swing through.”

  For two weeks after she and Diamond had robbed Fazio, Vee Vee had kept a low profile. Even though the night of the robbery had been her first time meeting Fazio, and he didn’t know shit about her, Vee Vee hadn’t returned to her job at Club Nikki’s. It was better safe than sorry, she told herself. Club Nikki’s was one of the hot spots for hustlers of all kind, Fazio might just happen to fall through.

  Vee Vee had affected a new look, trading in the long blond-streaked tresses she’d worn that night of the robbery for a curly, black bob. Green contacts and a brand new nose piercing further changed her appearance. Despite the affected change in her appearance, she still had no intentions of going back to work at the strip club.

  Vee Vee and Diamond had split almost $80,000. Diamond had held onto the jewelry and just recently began trying to sell it. That bitch better keep it real or else! Vee Vee was thinking every day while she waited for Diamond to sell the jewels and bring her half of the money. Vee Vee’s job was to get rid of the kilo of coke.

  Vee Vee wasn’t stupid; she had known that she couldn’t give the brick to just any nigga and expect to be paid for it. Which is why she had sat on it until two days ago. Then Raveion had come by her crib.

  Raveion was good people, not the type of nigga who’s full of game. He was a grand hustla but not a street pharmacologist. Raveion hustled bootleg CDs, DVDs, “burnout cell phones”, and knock off designer purses and bags. The boy got paid like he was slangin’ crack. Vee Vee occasionally bought a bootleg DVD from Raveion, never any of the knock off designer shit. She wouldn’t be caught dead carrying nothing but the authentic.

  Raveion was her Mr. Lover Man. He was the only nigga she fucked strictly for pleasure. She knew that she could trust Raveion not to shit on her; he’d bring her back the fifteen stacks she told him she’d accept for the brick and he could keep the rest if he sold it for more.

  An hour later Vee Vee pulled into Raveion’s driveway, she was thinking she would spend the night with her Mr. Lover Man, perhaps call up Moesha and treat Raveion to double the usual fun.

  Chapter Seven

  Fazio’s adrenaline rushed through his body like an electrical current.

  Tyson, a drug dealer from the Oakland City area who usually bought weight from one of the amigos down with Fazio, had bought a single brick from a dude he met through an associate. Tyson had examined the inside of the wrapper when he was breaking the brick down to cook into crack because the amigo had told him almost two months ago to be on the lookout for kilos wrapped in red tape, and had described to him the Virgin Mary stamps inside.

  “The fuck if Tyson didn’t get lucky, A nigga just struck gold!” he exclaimed when he spotted the Virgin Mary emblem stamped on the inside of the wrapping. Word on the street was that Fazio must’ve gotten jacked for some kilos and was trying to hunt them down. Rumor had it that he was offering a big reward.

  Tyson was hoping that along with the reward, maybe Fazio would let him get down with the clique. Then he could get to the money for real. Fazio and his peeps were raping the game. Tyson wanted to roll wit’ them niggaz. Fuck the dude who sold him the bricks, I don’t owe that nigga no loyalty, thought Tyson before dropping dime on the dude.

  Fazio and three eses held Raveion at gunpoint in his own crib. The three Mexican goons with Fazio smiled menacingly at the frightened bootleg hustla.

  Raveion kept trying to explain to Fazio, the three eses, Tyson, and even to God, that he wasn’t a drug dealer, and that he had no idea where his girlfriend had gotten that kilo from.

  “I was just selling it for her, tryna help the girl out,” he explained.

  He looked from face to face, finding no believers. When he looked to Tyson he did so pleadingly. Tyson looked away, refusing to meet Raveion’s gaze.

  Raveion’s eyes began to water as he sensed how things would end if he couldn’t convince them that he was just as innocent. He didn’t even know what the fuck Vee Vee had done. Whatever it was, he was thinking: Why the fuck that bitch involve me in this fuck shit!

  A while later they heard a car pull into the yard. Fazio watched from behind a slight part in the vertical blinds. Vee Vee got out of the new BMW and walked up to the front door.

  “Answer the door,” Fazio whispered to Tyson when they heard her knock.

  “Hi. Is Raveion around?” Vee Vee asked the unfamiliar face that opened the door.

  “Yeah, he’s upstairs. Come on in, I’ll let him know you’re here,” said Tyson. He let Vee Vee inside, closing the door behind her.

  Like a phantom,
Fazio appeared. Vee Vee looked so much different than he recalled. Fazio studied her every feature for recognition. Vee Vee’s recognition of him was instantaneous. Her face went ashen and her mouth opened to let out a scream. Fazio reached out with a powerful hand, choking her to silence.

  “Yeah, bitch, it’s me!” he gritted.

  At gunpoint he led her to the back room where the three Mexican thugs had Raveion subdued amongst a clutter of the recording machines he used to produce his bootleg CDs. When they brought Vee Vee into the room, Raveion could not restrain his anger.

  “Bitch, what the fuck you done got me caught up in?” he cried.Before Vee Vee could respond Raveion broke free from his abductors, ran over to her, and punched her dead in the face. Vee Vee staggered back and fell on the seat of her Frankie B jeans.

  “Bitch, you better tell these niggaz I didn’t have anything to do with whatever the fuck you done to ‘em!” barked Raveion.

  Vee Vee could taste the blood from her busted lip. Nigga punched me like I’m a goddamn man! And you think I’m gonna spare your ass? Nah, nigga!

  She said to Fazio, “He helped me and Diamond set up the whole thing.”

  “You lying ass ho!” screamed Raveion.

  One of the eses slapped him across the forehead with a chrome .44 magnum, knocking the bootleg hustla on the seat of his faux Sean John jeans.

  “I want all of my shit back!” barked Fazio.

  Diamond already had her bags packed. She was planning to hit the highway as soon as next week. The only reason she hadn’t already bounced is because she was waiting around to collect her half of the money Vee Vee owed her from the brick. If it’s not sold by next week, I’m out, she promised herself. Only greed had kept her around this long.

  Diamond had decided to do Vee Vee real dirty as far as the jewels were concerned. She was jetting with all of it—fuck Vee Vee. She would sell the pieces once she reached New York, where she planned to relocate. For now, she was laying low with an old sugar daddy out in Marrietta.